Soul Magic
by Thaago
Summary: There was no prophecy. Voldemort arrived in Godric's Hollow with one purpose: to kill Lily Potter. But why? What drove Voldemort to lay aside all his plans to hunt one woman? And what happened that Halloween night that defeated him? Rated T for potential violence and adult themes. No pairings (yet). Divergence.
1. Rescue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I have any cunning plots to do so. Nope, not me.

Chapter 1: Rescue

_Pop!_

Harry Potter felt like he had just been pulled through a very, very small hole. While spinning. He convulsed, trying to throw up, but his stomach had nothing left in it. He was in the arms of a very, _very_ scary woman wearing a bathrobe. He had just met her.

"Harry!" she cried out as his eyes started to close. "Harry, you must stay awake!"

* * *

Harry was back on the floor of his aunt and uncle's kitchen. It was a few weeks before his eleventh birthday. "You miserable freak!" his uncle Vernon screamed between kicks. "What part of 'no magic' don't you understand!"

There was a flash of light, and the door to the garden exploded inwards, glass shards flying everywhere. A tall, grey haired woman stood in it like an avenging angel only… wearing a bathrobe and waving a stick?

"Get away from him!" she cried out in a strong Scottish accent, and she slashed her stick like a sword. Ropes snapped around Vernon, who fell to the ground with a thud. Dudley started shrieking, dropping his ice cream on the ground. Petunia just turned white. Ropes sprang around them as well.

"Oh Albus..." she said, kneeling down next to Harry and swishing her stick. "What have we done?"

* * *

_-ervate! Levicorpus!_

Harry's eyes snapped open. For a moment he felt alright, but then all his pains came back to him. He tried to curl back up into a ball, but couldn't. He was immobilized, stretched straight out like a plank, staring at the bright blue sky. Every once in a while a concerned face would appear above him.

"Minerva, who is that?" another woman's voice cried out. "What happened?"

"Pomona, get to Poppy and tell her to prepare for an emergency!"

A stone ceiling replaced Harry's nice view of sky. Where were they? He began to move faster. _Much _faster. The ceiling whipped by and suddenly he was flying upwards, in the center of a spiral staircase. Down another hallway and he heard doors bang open.

"_Accio!_" a new woman called out and Harry found himself falling onto what must be a bed. Another stick pointed at his mouth, which opened. The foulest liquid he had ever tasted was soon pouring over his tongue, and Harry Potter knew no more.

* * *

He was back in his cousin's spare room. It was well past midnight, but he had brought a torch and a blanket from the linen closet to hide under. In his hands was a maths book that he had stolen from school.

Harry remembered now. He was nine years old and had just begun a new school year. And his teacher… she had smiled at him. He had answered a question right, and she had smiled. He wanted that again, so, so much! So he took the math book and studied it every night that his cupboard wasn't locked. His cousin would never notice one more book among his untouched collection.

Harry looked at the book in his hands, and kept reading it. He liked this. This was a good memory. Unlike when –

Harry's world shifted and spun. He was in the kitchen again. His Uncle was lighting a paper on fire and gloating. It was one of Harry's exams, the one where his teacher had told him that she was proud of him. Harry had felt something _snap_ inside of him, just before the paper flew out of Vernon's hand and back to Harry.

Again the world spun. Harry immediately recognized his surroundings. This was his oldest dream, the one he always woke up after. He was lying in a crib in a softly lit nursery. A beautiful woman with red hair and green eyes was stroking his cheek.

"I love you Harry. I love you more than anything." In the background was shouting and banging. A flash of green light shone under the door and there was no more sound, save for slow footsteps coming up the stairs.

"I love you!" The woman had started crying, but still raised the knife in her hand to Harry's forehead and began to _cut_.

* * *

And Harry woke up. He sighed. He always woke up, though sometimes he wished that he wouldn't. It was another morning and he would lie in his cupboard until –

Harry suddenly gave an almighty start. This was _not_ his cupboard! Instead he was lying in a bed! And there was the soft light of the sunrise coming through the windows and painting the curtains around him the most wonderful color. He was warm, and comfortable.

Harry didn't know what was going on, but maybe he was still dreaming. He tried to keep his mind still, so it wouldn't go away. He liked this dream.

A door opened somewhere, and Harry heard footsteps.

"How is he?" a man's voice softly asked. It was a nice voice, smooth with age and reassuring.

"He will recover, eventually." A woman's voice. "His injuries were extensive. Two ribs were broken, along with bone bruises on the spine and skull. He was also severely dehydrated, and one of his kidneys was damaged beyond repair. Luckily he responded well to Squick-Grow. If what Minerva overheard was correct, it seems he had been doing labor in the sun without water. Albus, I do not doubt he would have died if your wards hadn't alerted Minerva."

Silence filled the room for a few moments. "I see." The man's voice sounded very, very tired. "Poppy, I must thank you yet again. May I see Harry for a moment?"

"Of course Albus, but do not wake him."

The curtains around Harry drew back and he squinted at the sudden brightness.

" Ah! Awake already?" The man was tall, with a long grey beard tucked into his purple gown and sparkling blue eyes over a crooked nose. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

Harry didn't say anything, but eyed the cross dresser warily. Albus frowned just a bit, and looked Harry directly in the eyes. He chortled softly.

"Do not worry Harry, I do not wish you, or any other child, any ill. Far from it; I am the Headmaster at the school here, and I look out for all of my students. Now I see you are tired, so I will let you sleep. But we will speak again Harry, for I have many important things to tell you, things you should have heard years ago. Sleep well, Harry."

Harry squinted to try and see Albus better. The man looked downright silly in his sparkling dress, but not threatening like his Uncle.

"Thanks." Harry croaked out.

"You are very welcome, my boy. And for future reference, this is a _robe_, not a dress." With a wink, Albus drew back the curtains and quietly left.

* * *

Three days later Harry left the hospital wing, as he know knew was called, with strict instructions from his caretaker, Madam Pomfrey, to "stay out of trouble! And absolutely no flying, young man!" Dumbledore was leading him outside to have a talk by the lake.

Harry had no idea what was going on. From his bed he had seen what could only be magic. Well, the little bottles of horrible tasting liquid that made him feel better could be normal medicine. Very strangely colored medicine. That occasionally fizzed. And once tried to climb out of its own bottle.

Ok, Harry admitted to himself, that one was either magical, or _very_ past its expiry date.

Those aside, he has seen Madam Pomfrey point her stick – wait, they were wands, not sticks. She had been a bit picky about that. Anyhow, he had seen her point her wand and float things! Just like he could! The first time he had seen her he had almost warned her not to do magic in case his uncle saw, but clamped his mouth shut before the first words came out. His uncle wasn't near Harry anymore, and hopefully never would be again.

Harry and Dumbledore exited from the castle through a very impressive set of double doors and walked towards the lake. There was a light, sweet smelling breeze coming from the north, carrying with it the first hints of the fall chill to come. Harry didn't mind however. He was dressed in a robe of his own, and while he felt a bit silly wearing it, it was quite warm.

In just a few minutes they reached the long sloping lawn leading to the lake. As they neared the edge of the water Dumbledore waved his wand and a stone bench slid smoothly out of the ground.

"Sit Harry, and let us have our very long overdue talk."

Harry sat on the bench next to Dumbledore, facing the lake.

"Tell me Harry, has anything strange ever happened around you? Anything you could not understand? Perhaps when you are angry or scared?"

"You mean when I use magic?"

Dumbledore gave Harry an appraising look. "I'm surprised Harry. Most children from non-magical backgrounds I talk to are very hesitant to admit that they can use magic, or even that magic exists. Sometimes even going to preposterous lengths to claim otherwise. I guess I can skip the usual introduction then and get right to the point. Harry, you are a wizard!"

Harry had known, more or less, that he could do magic for about four years. But no one had ever talked about magic like it was a good thing before. It was always Petunia lecturing him about how his freakishness would disgust the neighbors like it did her, or his Uncle shaking him while threatening to beat it out of his system. When he had been little he had wished for something like this, for someone like himself to talk to. Harry's throat tightened.

"D- does that mean I'm allowed to do magic?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes Harry. You can do as much magic as you like. We even encourage it to some extent."

Harry felt something burst inside and found himself sobbing. Dumbledore put an arm around his shoulders and drew him to his side.

"There there my boy" Dumbledore murmured "that's right, let it out. Everything is going to be better now."

Harry sobbed for a minute more before turning his face, eyes red and wet with tears, up to look at Dumbledore. "Promise?" he said weakly.

For just a moment, almost too fast for Harry to see, Dumbledore looked very old and very sad. "I promise to do everything in my power to make things better. For everyone."

Harry and Dumbledore sat side by side for a long time watching the lake. Harry felt better than he had in a long time. His magic had always been his secret comfort. It was something special that only he could do, something he could feel to his very center. He would spend hours when locked in his cupboard making folded airplanes chase each other. He had drawn a stick figure on the underside of a stair and willed it to wave hello to him. It was his secret friend.

Then he had done magic in front of his aunt and uncle by accident, pulling the burning test out of Vernon's hand. Petunia had turned white as a sheet, Dudley had screamed, and Vernon just slowly turned red. Then the screaming started. He was a freak. He was worthless. He was a burden and a waste and he was _never to do magic, ever!_

And now that was over. He let himself relax the iron grip he had kept his magic under and felt it flow out of him. The grass around Harry and Dumbledore whipped back and forth as if in a breeze, then settled.

The sun had reached its peak and was starting to lower itself over the lake. Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately Harry, there are some more things I need to share with you, some not very pleasant. But first, there are some formalities to cover. You are on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the finest magical school in Britain. This is where your parents went to school and where your father's family has been educated for hundreds of years. I now extend that offer to you."

Dumbledore handed Harry a letter, addressed in green ink to "Harry Potter, Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry". Harry turned it over and stared at the wax seal on the back bearing a quartered shield with a lion, snake, badger, and raven.

"The Hogwarts seal, unchanged for over a thousand years." Dumbledore explained, seeing that Harry had paused to look at it. "It bears the animals of each of our scholastic houses. The lion is for Gryffindor, whose students charge bravely to meet their foes. The badger is for Hufflepuff. They are peaceful and loyal, but fierce in protecting those they love. The snake is for Slytherin. Students in that house make plans and wait patiently to accomplish their goals. And the raven is for Ravenclaw, where the gathering of knowledge is prized above all else. Go on and open the letter, Harry. There will be time enough for you to think over the houses later."

He broke the seal reluctantly and pulled out a letter informing him of his acceptance and his required school supplies. Compared to the fantastical seal it was rather ordinary.

"What does it mean, it awaits my owl?" Harry asked.

"Ah, the magical community uses owl's to deliver letters. Messy, yes, but far more reliable than you would think." Harry stared at Dumbledore. "In this case I will accept a verbal answer, as we do not have time to go to the forest and catch an owl. Will you accept?"

"Y-Yes!" Harry exclaimed. He felt a subtle shift in the air around him, as if something in the grounds had started watching him. "But headmaster, how am I supposed to get all these things?" Harry pointed to the list of books, robes, and other supplies. "I don't have any money."

"Actually Harry, you have quite a bit that your parents left to you. Its time you heard their tale. It begins long ago, with one very gifted student of Hogwarts being seduced by dark, dark magic…"

Dumbledore told Harry of Voldemort and evil wizards. He told him of the desperate struggles of the past generation, though not in too graphic detail, and of how brave his parents had been. Finally he told Harry of the night that his parents had died and Voldemort had disappeared. About how he was famous and how everyone in the wizarding world knew his name and his scar. He told Harry that he was the Boy Who Lived.

By the end of the story Harry was crying again. He had never heard anything about his parents and to hear about how they had died was too much for him. He desperately wanted to know more about them, but not today. He had had enough shocks today.

Dumbledore seemed to understand. "We will talk more about the past another day, but for now we should head inside. It is growing late, and the house elves will soon be serving dinner."

Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve and nodded. He and Dumbledore stood and walked back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Author's Note: This is my first fic, so I would appreciate any reviews and advice on how to make it better. I'l get to more interesting things soon, I promise, but I tried to throw one or two important details into this chapter. I decided against writing out Dumbledore's story of the war and James/Lily's deaths because we all know it already. And he doesn't know what I've changed, now does he?

Next Chapter: A hat!


	2. London

I do not own Harry Potter. But JK Rowling does...

Chapter 2: London

Harry spent much of his time the next few weeks in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey insisted that he continue to drink potions every morning and evening. He had come to understand that Madam Pomfrey was two very different persons. One was a kind soul who would happily chat with Harry about Hogwarts as she went on her rounds. The other was a stern taskmistress with a heart of iron and tongue of flame, who reared her head whenever someone questioned her authority over the hospital wing. It didn't matter how awful the potions tasted; they were going down Harry's throat.

Harry also spent much of his time reading. Before he would have to beg his relatives to let him go to the library, or else he would have to sneak about at night. Here though, it seemed he could read as much as he wanted! Granted, he had little else to do. He had wanted at first to go explore the castle, his reasoning being that it was a _castle_, but he wasn't allowed to wander without an escort. It was too dangerous for Harry to be alone and without a wand, he was told, because of just how magical the school was. To keep him busy the Headmaster had given him _Our Magic, Our Selves_, a sort of introduction to magic book intended for young witches and wizards. Harry had finished it within the day. When Harry asked shyly for another book, Albus promised him "Something that will last just a bit longer." At over fifteen hundred pages thick, _Hogwarts: A History_ was proving to be a bit of a challenge.

Today however Harry wouldn't be reading. Professor McGonagall had just arrived and told him to get dressed; they were going shopping. As they were getting ready to go she handed Harry a thick wool hat in Gryffindor red and gold. It had a long tassel. And ear flaps.

"Professor…" Harry paused. "Isn't it a bit warm to be wearing this?"

"Perhaps. It does however cover your scar. You have not yet seen the effect of your fame, Mr. Potter, but if you were to appear in public you would cause quite the commotion. I can assure you that you shall be much cooler wearing that hat than you would be being surrounded by hundreds of mobbing fans."

Harry put on the hat.

He and Minerva made their way over to a huge fireplace on the east side of the Hospital Wing, which, if his new book was to be believed, was built in 1536 to accommodate the evacuation of students during an outbreak of wizard plague. Wizard plague was similar to the muggle one, except for one key difference: when the sores of the patient opened, they would erupt in flame and stay burning for several days.

"Mr. Potter, since you have never used the Floo before, pay close attention. We will be going to the Leaky Cauldron. Repeat our destination please."

"The Leaky Cauldron."

"Correct. You will first take a pinch of Floo Powder, a good pinch now, about this size, and you will throw it into the flames. Once they turn green, and _not before_, you shall step into the flames and call out in a clear voice your destination. Which is?"

"The Leaky Cauldron, Professor."

McGonagall nodded. "Now watch me do it, then follow immediately. Mind the smoke and keep your elbows in." McGonagall tossed powder into the flames, stepped in, and called out "The Leaky Cauldron". She rapidly spun in place and was sucked away, as if down a drain.

Harry gulped. That didn't look at all pleasant.

And it wasn't. Even being mindful of the smoke, he barely got out his destination before having a coughing fit. It didn't help that he was being yanked through a tiny tunnel, surrounded in green flame, and spinning. Fireplace after fireplace zipped by, including one that Harry could swear was completely upside down. As suddenly as his trip had begun it stopped.

Harry was ejected at great speed from the fireplace and was caught by Professor McGonagall before he could fall.

"Not bad for a first Floo trip, Mr. Potter. You'll eventually get used to the first step after exiting. It is a bit jarring."

Harry brushed himself off and took in his surroundings. The Leaky Cauldron was very busy, but also quite run down. A dozen banged up round tables under low hanging iron chandeliers crowded the center of the room, while booths lined two opposite the walls. A lopsided wooden staircase led up to the second floor and there were doors at the front and back of the tavern.

The most fascinating thing however was the people. Short people, tall people, stooped, wrinkled, greedy, glowing, walking on the ceiling… Harry had never seen such a crowd. Many were dressed in robes like the set Harry now wore, ranging from ordinary black or grey to fantastic multicolored creations that made Dumbledore look plain. The rest were dressed in a garish approximation of ordinary street clothes. And the hats! Not everyone had them, but what was there was either far too tall or much too brightly colored. As Harry turned himself, open mouthed, to look at everyone he noted with relief that at least one person was wearing an ordinary turban.

An old man, bald and wrinkled, ran past them with surprising speed while carrying three trays.

"Morning Minerva!" He called out, deftly depositing the food and returning. "What brings you here? Hope you don't want breakfast, cause we're swamped!"

"Good morning, Tom. I'm just passing through to Diagon Alley with a new student." She gestured at Harry, who waved.

Tom peered intently at Harry, taking in the black Hogwarts robes and bright knit hat. "Have a cold young man? You look a little familiar, I must say…"

McGonagall coughed. "We shouldn't keep you from your customers, Tom." She said pointedly.

"Right, right, secrets as usual…" Tom said with a wink. With that he hobbled away, again faster than Harry could believe.

"Who was that, Professor?" He asked.

"An old, old friend. Now come with me and try not to trip on anyone, we have lots to do."

McGonagall led them out the back door of the Leaky Cauldron into a dead end alley. She drew her wand. "Pay attention Mr. Potter. This is the general method for opening passage between muggle and wizarding London." She began tapping her wand on the back wall, starting with the ground on the right hand side and working in a large arch to the left. As soon as she completely the arch, the wall began to move. It twisted in on itself, bricks furiously rotating. After just a few seconds an arch of perfect brickwork stood before Harry and McGonagall, through which was the most amazing thing Harry had ever seen.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," McGonagall said softly, "the commercial center of wizarding Britain."

The alley, really a wide boulevard, was fantastic. Crooked houses from every era were jammed up next to each other, every one awash with bright colors. As Harry stumbled into the alley, he saw that they were all shops! Wand shops, book shops, clothing shops, curio shops, potion shops, pet shops, luggage shops, shops where you could go to find out what you needed to shop for! Wizards and witches of all sizes and colors walked the streets in a happy chaos, dipping in an out of buildings and bending over to look at roadside stalls.

"Dragon liver!" one streetside vendor called out "Seared dragon liver, fresh like your mum used to make! Good for the eyes and brain! Eat it and you'll never see wrackspurts again!"

Harry looked up at McGonagall. "There are dragons?!" he said "Real, live dragons with wings and fire and everything?!"

McGonagall smiled. "Yes indeed. They come in many varieties but are all quite fearsome beasts, growing to over a hundred feet in length. They fly faster than a racing broom and can shoot fire that is surpassed by only one spell." McGonagall paused. "We eat them, naturally."

Harry was stunned. Dragons were real! And tasty! What else was real?

McGonagall proceeded at a brisk pace and Harry scrambled to keep up. Their destination was a large plaza over a mile away, dominated in its center by an imposing white marble building. A dozen other streets similar to Diagon Alley extended radially away from the building.

"This" Professor McGonagall said, stopping and turning to face Harry, "is Gringotts Hub, home to Gringotts Bank. Down each street in the distance is the Ministry Hub. If you are ever lost in wizarding London, simply walk down any of the thirteen straight main streets and you will arrive at one hub or the other. Understand?"

Harry nodded, paused, then shook his head and frowned. "How can the ministry hub be down both of those streets at the same time?" he asked, pointing to two streets on opposite sides of the plaza.

"Because the original designers of the city thought it would be convenient." McGonagall said, not really answering Harry's question. "Personally I wish that it could be drawn on a map." She turned and strode off again. "Come along."

They walked through the plaza and arrived at the marble building. In an arch over a huge set of open bronze double doors read "Gringotts Bank". They walked through the doors and past a pair of very short, ugly sentries into a narrow pillar lined hallway. Harry couldn't help but stare just a bit at the guards, and one of them gave him a sneer. At the end of the hallways was a smaller set of doors, this time silver, with a poem engraved into them:

_If you seek from here to heave,_

_What friend or father did not leave,_

_ Be warned! We take sincere delight,_

_ In hunting those that take to flight._

_ Remember well, when all is said,_

_ Our promise that, before you're dead:_

_ For every Knut you sought to make,_

_ Another scream from you we'll take._

On either side of the doors were a dozen skulls set into the wall, with room for plenty more.

Harry gulped. "What kind of bank is this?!" he whispered to McGonagall.

"A goblin bank. Gringotts a well deserved reputation for… enthusiastic… security." Harry glanced back, and one of the guards gave him a grin that promised to keep him up at night for weeks.

McGonagall approached the silver doors and a key seemed to slide right out of the skin of her hand. She tapped it once against the doors and they opened. Inside was another long, narrow room, with a vaulted ceiling and rows of teller's windows on the sides. About a third of them were open, with a goblin sitting behind them helping a witch or wizard. The silver doors swung silently shut behind Harry and McGonagall as they entered.

McGonagall swept her gaze along one wall until she saw a free goblin, then took Harry towards it.

"Yes?" it asked in a creeky, rasping voice. This goblin had white hair and seemed much older than the ones that had been on guard.

"Professor McGonagall here to withdraw one hundred galleons on behalf of Mr. Potter" McGonagall declared. From an inside pocket of her robes she drew an ornate key and extended it towards the goblin.

A look of consternation appeared on his face, and he waved the key away. "From his own hand, if this is truly Mr. Potter."

McGonagall frowned. "I believe your bank was approached about this matter, Mr…?"

"You may call me Bogrod. I will check with the manager, wait here."

Bogrod hopped off his stool and waddled quickly away. Harry glanced at McGonagall nervously.

"Is something wrong? I don't have any money from the Dursleys."

"I am sure everything will be fine." She gave a quick smile. "And if not, then Hogwarts will provide. We are not so barbaric as to bar students who have fallen on hard times."

Harry nodded and looked into the distance, lost in his thoughts. He really hadn't anything except hard times, had he? Each year the best he could hope for clothes were too large hand me downs from Dudley. He didn't really own anything other than the glasses that Petunia had gotten him when the school complained about him not being able to read. Everything else he had stolen. What would it be like to have money? And if he really had it, how soon would it be before his relatives tried to take it?

His thoughts were interrupted by Bogrod's return, bringing with him another elderly goblin and a trio of guards.

"I am Ragnok, Day Manager of Gringotts." The words were pronounced the same way Duke or King normally were. "The missive from Albus Dumbledore was received and rejected." McGonagall stifled a small gasp. "While Gringotts prides itself on service to our long time customers, what you asked is against our custom."

"Very well." McGonagall's lips were very thin. "I am sorry to have taken your time, Manager."

Ragnok smiled yellow teeth and departed with his guards. McGonagall turned to Bogrod, who had gone back behind his window.

"Well then." McGonagall said, her tone brisk. "One hundred galleons from the Hogwarts discretionary account, please."

Bogrod took the key that grew from her hand, inspected it, and inserted it somewhere below the window. There was a loud rattling sound followed by a thump. He handed back her key and a bulging leather bag. He grinned nastily. "Thank you for banking with Gringotts. Have a nice day."

McGonagall glared at the goblin and sharply turned away. She led Harry out the bank the way they came.

Over the course of the next hour Harry was whisked in and out of a half dozen shops in Diagon Alley. He now had several more pairs of plain black robes, two cauldrons, an entire case of potion ingredients, and a fine if used telescope. It was already well in to the afternoon and Harry was starting to get tired.

"Two more stops Mr. Potter." McGonagall said. "Let's get your wand next." She led Harry a quarter mile down the street to a narrow, tall shop. In peeling paint above the door was written "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.". Harry looked up at McGonagall, slightly worried. The other shops had all been neat and well taken care of; this one looked like the paint hadn't been touched up in decades. He did _not_ want a shoddy wand. It seemed like every bit of magic he had seen needed one.

McGonagall saw his look and chuckled. "You will learn, Harry, that some are talented enough that they no longer need to keep up appearances. Ollivanders may be shabby on the outside, but the Ollivander has always been the best wand maker in Britain." She led Harry inside.

Harry felt like he had stepped inside a temple. The air was still and silent. Dust motes hung in the air, bathed in a beam of light from a high window. Hundreds if not thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls, a sliding library ladder giving easy access. The counter and register at the far end of the room seemed strangely out of place. The magic from the wands hummed through Harry and he stood rooted in place, his wide eyes slowly taking in every detail. McGonagall smiled slightly at Harry's awed reaction and sat on a small chair next to the door.

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you." a soft voice called out. An old man with pale eyes was standing in front of Harry. He hadn't suddenly appeared, popping into place with a bang like Harry had seen a few times that day. Rather, it was as if he had always been there and Harry simply hadn't noticed him.

"I am Ollivander." He peered at Harry's face. "They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. You have your mother's eyes. How curious." He turned away and began to gather things from the counter. "I remember every wand that I have every sold. Lily Evans had a wand of holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple. A wand with a destiny, that one." His eyes turned to McGonagall. "I don't suppose you know what happened to it?"

McGonagall shook her head.

"Pity. Hold still, Harry Potter." A tape measure whizzed out his hand and began to measure Harry. Ollivander went to the walls and started pulling down boxes, lecturing as he went. "No two wands are alike. There are many woods suitable to harnessing and shaping a wand locus and quite a few cores as well, though I tend to work in only unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather. But beyond simple composition wands have subtleties that few grasp. Though they do not speak, they have personality. Though they have not a mind, they judge. Remember that always, Harry Potter. Wands have a sentience that, while quite alien in comparison, is as present as yours or mine."

He came back to Harry and took the tape measure back as it finished measuring the size of Harry's earlobe. "Try this. Willow and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, swishy. Just give it a wave."

Harry took the wand in his hand and waved it. It startled to rattle violently in his grip and the tip began to glow.

"Oh dear no!" Ollivander's hand darted forward and he snatched the wand. The glow had spread down the whole wand and it appeared to be trembling in Ollivander's hand. He eyed Harry. "No unicorn hair. Curious."

He promptly set aside over half the boxes he had brought down. He took another out. "Vine and dragon heartstring, ten inches, unyielding." Harry took it in his hand and waved it. A few lackluster sparks came out.

"Closer, closer. Let see…"

They went through dozens of wands. Harry was starting to get a sore shoulder from keeping his hand out all the time, but McGonagall seemed keenly interested in the whole affair. Ollivander was treating Harry as a particularly difficult puzzle, with each wand giving him clues that Harry could only guess at. Finally, Ollivander paused in his rapid fire wand selection.

"I wonder…" he disappeared into a back room, then came gliding back. "I made this wand almost fifty years ago, on commission. Needless to say it found the wizard unsuitable. Try it."

Harry took the wand and this time it felt right. He raised it high in the air and brought it down; a cascade of blue and bronze sparks came out. McGonagall's eyes lit up and she clapped politely. A few of the sparks lingered longer than the others, and one floated down to land on Harry's cheek. He yelped and swatted the spark off. It had been burning hot.

Ollivander gazed at Harry for a long moment, delight and worry warring on his face. "Cherry and dragon heartstring. Supple, eleven inches." He eventually said. "This wand has chosen you. It is a powerful and picky wand, capable of great magic. But you have already felt its sting." His eyes locked onto Harry's. "Do not use this wand frivolously or wildly, Harry Potter, or you or someone else will feel its ire far more strongly."

Harry nodded. "I-I promise sir."

McGonagall ended up paying fifty five galleons for the wand. Her eyebrows had gone up at the cost, but Ollivander had just shrugged. "The original wizard never paid me for the order. I am trying to run a business, you know."

Harry was feeling tired and footsore when they arrived at their final shopping stop: the London branch of the bookseller Flourish and Blotts. Harry's face lit up when they entered. He had never seen so many books in one place! The store itself was huge, taking up the space of at least four lesser shops. Near the entrance were clusters of shelves bearing handsome, but ordinary looking leather books. Each cluster had a sign hanging from the ceiling with the name of a school.

"Let's see…" McGonagall muttered "Stonehill, Redbridge… ah here we are." She pointed. "Hogwarts." She began to pull the needed books from the shelves and soon they had the full set. She led Harry to the front of the store, books floating along behind her. There was an _enormous_ line, more like a mob, of impatient witches and wizards waiting to be rung out at the register.

Harry jumped up and down to see what was causing the delay. He caught a glimpse of a tall, old witch with a vulture on her head who was loudly haranguing the cashier. Something about her grandson being turned into a noodle? Whatever was going on, they certainly weren't checking out anytime soon!

"Professor?" Harry asked. "Can I look around for a bit?"

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Potter." She sighed at Harry's blank look. "Yes, you may, but stay in the shop. I will find you when I am done dealing with all this nonsense."

Harry grinned and began to explore. Where to even begin? There was just so much! He quickly found a section on dragons and opened _An Illustrated Field Guide to Dragons_. He nearly dropped it when one of the dragons woke up and started to breathe fire right off the page. Soon after he found a section on curses and jinxes and started looking for one to hit Dudley with. None of them were like curses from TV though, where you mumble a few words and the person breaks out in pimples wherever they were. He would have to be really close and use his wand. So much for that idea! He never wanted to be in the same room as the bully again.

Harry rounded a corner in the history section at the very back of the store, only to stop dead in his tracks. The shelf in front of him was entirely dedicated to the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter. Him. He glanced around; there wasn't anyone around. His fingers trembling slightly, he pulled a book at random and let it fall open to the introduction.

_"Harry James Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. A boy who, like so many others lost his parents to the Time of Terror. But that very same night, unlike all others before him to face You-Know-Who's wand, Harry survived! The reign of the dark lord was over. But what really happened that night? So few details are truly known. We know that the Potter house in Godric's Hollow was destroyed. We know that the Potters themselves were found dead at the scene. We know that Harry Potter received a curse scar. And we know that no sign of Voldemort or his magic has been seen ever since. "_

Harry felt grief building inside him. It had really happened. It wasn't a sad story about some boy long ago whose parents had died. His parents had been murdered. His dad who he couldn't remember. The mum whose face he saw in his dreams. The only people to care about him for his entire life! Harry sunk to the ground and put his back against the shelf. What would his life had been like? Would he have been happy? He imagined coming home from school to a kind look rather than a screech. He imagined his dad smiling at him and ruffling his hair. He imagined his mum telling him she was proud. A dam broke inside Harry and he began to silently cry, rocking back and forth. None of it would ever be real. And he could never, ever, get his parents back.

Harry's thoughts circled like that for a long time. Eventually, he didn't really think about anything. He just felt empty. Like someone had taken his eyes and his gut and his heart and wrung out everything they had. He started to listen to the sounds around him again. He could hear people moving around the store. He heard a woman talking to her daughter.

For just a moment Harry was angrier than he had ever been before. Angry at the Dark Lord for killing his parents. Angry at the Dursleys for being so mean. Angry at the girl he could hear for having a mum. Angry at the uncaring world for letting all of this happen to him. But the anger soon faded out to nothing, leaving Harry even emptier than before.

Harry looked down at the book, still open, that had triggered all of it. Why did the stupid thing even exist? He leafed through it. Page after page was filled about him. For some reason what had happened to Harry was important. Important enough for books to be about him. Important enough that he had to hide his identity or be swamped by the curious. That was something at least.

Speaking of hiding his identity… He pulled the hat off his head and looked at it, a small smile breaking out on his tear stained face. The hat was just so silly! It was floppy and hand knit and worn. He turned it over and read on the inside of the rim "Minnie's Hat" in unsteady stitching. Minny? As in Professor Minerva McGonagall? He imagined the look on her face if he ever called her Minnie and giggled just a bit. This must be her hat from when she was a kid. She must have kept it all through school. It was nice of her to trust him with it.

Harry blinked and turned the hat in his hands. For some reason thinking about McGonagall and the people at Hogwarts was making him feel better. Less empty. Finally the reason why came to him. They cared about him. They wanted him.

Harry resolved then to do everything he could to make them proud of him.

He put the hat back on and wiped his face with the hem of his robes. He picked up the book to put it back, but paused. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to read it. He couldn't really think of a reason why, just that he wanted to. Like scratching an itch. Harry opened the book back up. Might as well finish the introduction at least.

_"The author has spent years attempting to find more facts regarding that fateful Halloween night. Unfortunately, they are hard to come by. We present in the first part of this volume a collection of all the primary and secondary source accounts, be they news interviews or accounts of testimony, of evidence concerning the truth of what happened that Halloween night. Second we present a sampling of the theories popular as to what truly occurred. Finally, the author presses the case for the true events of that night, reconstructed as best as possible."_

Harry frowned. He hadn't really questioned the story that Dumbledore had told him. But Sumbledore couldn't have really been there, could he? Harry flipped to a random page. It contained an interview.

_"SKEETER: You made the claim last week in the Prophet that the story of Harry's defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't true! Of course this raised a storm of criticism and there was a panic riot in London after the story broke. People were in the streets screaming about Him being back!"_

_"RATTLESTAMP: Yes, well! I claimed that the boy couldn't have survived a killing curse and that **that** part of the story must have been made up. There wasn't anyone around to see it, now was there? But the editor at the Prophet decided to sell a few more copies and twisted everything around! Man should be put in Azkaban for starting that riot."_

_"SKEETER: You heard it here, dear listeners! The Prophet yet again twists the facts to sell more copies. When will they learn? But back to the matter at hand! Albus Dumbledore himself claims the killing curse was cast, Professor. What is your response to that?"_

_"RATTLESTAMP: Well, Albus is a great wizard and of course an expert on curses. But here he must have made a mistake! You see, Harry is the only person to have ever survived a killing curse. The only one! There are dozens of cases of incredibly powerful witches and wizards being killed by that curse. I mean, what's more likely, that Dumbledore made a single mistake identifying hours old spell residue, or that an infant has some sort of power never seen before, even by users of incredibly ancient and powerful magic?"_

_ "SKEETER: So you are claiming that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is more powerful than any witch or wizard to have ever lived?"_

_ "RATTLESTAMP: Uh, no, I was trying to say that -"_

_ "SKEETER: Well there you have it, loyal listeners! The-Boy-Who lived, possibly the next Merlin according to Ruthus Rattlestamp, History Professor at London Magical Polytechnic. Tune your wireless next week for our segment: Could Harry Potter be the reincarnation of an ancient god? Is he here to bring destruction down on us all? Rita Skeeter out!"_

Huh. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about a killing curse. Harry could guess what that did. But why wouldn't he mention that? He already knew Voldemort wanted to kill him, why would that matter? Maybe Dumbledore had just thought it not important. Harry started to flip through the book to find more answers when Professor McGonagall's voice caused him to jump.

"I fear you'll find most popular accounts to be woefully low on facts, Mr. Potter." She said.

"Uh… I was just… it was" Harry stammered, standing up.

"It is alright Mr. Potter. It's only natural for someone in your position to want to know more about their past. Come along now, its time to go back to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded and followed her out of the book store. As they were walking down the street a thought struck him. "Professor, did you know my parents?" he asked in a small voice. "Dumbledore said they went to Hogwarts…"

McGonagall paused and studied Harry's face. After a moment she nodded. "Yes. They were students of mine and became dear friends. Would you like me to tell you about them?"

Harry nodded, his eyes tearing up again just a little. "Yes please."

"Then we will have a long talk about them after we get back to the castle."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for the kind review - it made me smile. Comments and criticism are very welcome.

For some reason it took me forever to write the last 10% of this chapter and I'm still not all that happy with the ending. Ah well, I should stop obsessing and get it out there. My plan for this story is roughly one chapter per week of roughly 5k words.

Minerva was wrong: Wizarding London actually can be drawn on a map, just not a flat one. Take a beachball or balloon. On one side, draw a circle and label it G, for the Gringotts Hub. On the opposite side, draw another circle, labeled M for the Ministry Hub. Draw thirteen straight lines connecting the two circles, each going in a different direction than the others. Of course, the minor alleys are much more twisty and don't fall on the surface of the sphere at all.

Next Chapter: A hat! For real this time.


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